I Swear (11 page)

I was so sure.

Leslie followed me to the front door. “Beth? It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone about this. I swear.”

My eyes narrowed. “You’d better not.”

“Call me later?”

I pushed out the front door with a single word:

“No.”

•  •  •

After Jake’s mom picked up Leslie for the Frosh Bash, she drove by my place to get me. Jake jumped out of the passenger seat in the Range Rover and held the door for me to climb in. I was relieved that I wouldn’t have to sit in the back next to Leslie. I could feel her eyes on me as we drove into the Wysts’ circular drive.

I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been to kiss her. I hated her for not wanting me, and now she knew something about
me that no one else could know. How could I be seen with her when I met all the kids I’d be attending school with? I would never be able to trust her.

Ever.

As we stepped out of the car in front of Brad’s house, I thought I might throw up.

“Oh. My. God,” Leslie said, staring up the house.

“I know. Ridic, right?” Jake said as he bounded up the porch stairs. “Bradley’s dad developed the whole subdivision. Get in here—I’ll give you the grand tour.”

The house was staggering. The subdivision was called Medina, something I learned from the framed plat map that took up an entire wall of Mr. Wyst’s study on the second floor. Of course, that was after we’d seen the media room, five bedrooms, and the giant kitchen filled with warm hardwoods and rough-hewn marble countertops. Two silver dishwashers matched a gleaming stainless range that had enough oven space for an entire pig, and a refrigerator the size of my bedroom.

Brad had asked Jake to come over early to help him set up, and when we stepped into the hot August sun at the pool, Brad was on the far side with a skimmer, talking on his cell phone. He smiled and waved at us, then turned away to finish his call.

“Shh,” said Jake with a finger to his lips. Then he kicked off his flip-flops and started running toward the end of the pool, whipping off his baseball cap and tank top along the way.
When he reached the diving board, he took a huge bounce, followed by an arching gainer that he landed in a cannonball, sending a wave of water perfectly aimed to nail Brad with optimum splash.

“Dude.”

It was all Brad said, in a perfect understatement, standing there drenched from head to toe. He flicked the water off his phone, then spoke into it again.

“I gotta go. Jake just got here with a couple of total babes.”

Brad was grinning at us when he said this—only, not leering, smiling. It was a nice smile—almost shy. He tossed his phone onto a stack of towels and peeled off his wet T-shirt, then dove directly at Jake’s head in the deep end. While they wrestled each other under the water for the next three minutes, I stood next to Leslie, watching her laugh at the antics in the pool. She looked fantastic.

Better than I did.

At that instant, I saw two girls coming out the back door. One had Jake’s beautiful eyes, and long, wavy chestnut locks.

That must be Jillian.

The girl she was with I recognized from the news coverage of election nights past. Macie Merrick had arrived. I made a beeline for them. I didn’t know what I would say, but I knew one thing for certain.

I was going to get to them before Leslie did.

16. JAKE

Brad and I were pulling into a parking place at Scarecrow Video when I realized I felt happy—but I wasn’t sure why. Of course, the minute I was aware that I was happy again, I realized that it was because I’d forgotten that Leslie didn’t work here anymore. She wouldn’t be standing behind the counter when I went up to rent the next zombie movie Brad and I were going to watch. She wouldn’t have a suggestion or try to trick me into taking home a “classic.”

I sat in Brad’s truck wondering where the tears had gone. I wasn’t sure when they ran out, only that there weren’t any left, and that felt sadder than knowing she was dead: knowing that my feelings were changing already—like with each day, the memory of what Leslie had meant to me faded a little more.

Brad must have sensed it.

“You just remembered, huh?”

I was quiet and looked out the window at the building.

Brad started to laugh. I spun around and glared at him. “What the hell, man?”

He raised both his hands in defense and giggled harder. “No—no, dude. Wait. I’m—I’m sorry. I . . . damn. I was thinking about that first day I met Leslie and Beth. Remember? At the Frosh Bash?”

He dissolved into laughter and it was infectious. I smiled and shook my head. Brad was wiping his eyes. “Holy shit.” He laughed. “Macie didn’t know what hit her.”

There was a surge in my chest when he said it, and the picture of Leslie snapped into sharp focus in my head. The feelings were back—all of them this time. Not only the sadness but the warmth of the sun on my neck at the pool and the cold splash of the water as I climbed out of the pool that day at Brad’s three years ago and saw Leslie slip out of her T-shirt and kick off her sandals.

•  •  •

Macie and Jillian arrived a good half hour before everybody else. And by “everybody else” I mean the who’s who of the cool kids at Westport. Derek delivered. Anyone who was on a sports team or pretty or popular was there.

There were plenty of girls who were all cute enough, but Leslie was the real star.

“Holy cow,” murmured Derek when he walked out onto the deck. She was wearing a new suit I hadn’t seen in Cape
Cod: a bright-red two-piece—not a bikini really; it had boy trunks and a cute top that showed just enough. Her hair was slung back in a ponytail. No bows. No makeup. No fuss.

As the pool started to fill up with people, Derek and a couple of other guys fired up the grill. Leslie and I were telling Brad about the surf instructor at the Chatham Bars Inn.

“Yeah.” Leslie laughed. “When I asked him what his name was, he said, ‘Diego, duuuuuuude.’”

I smiled. “So I was like, ‘C’mon, man. What’s your real name?’ And he was like, ‘My friend’s call me Diego, duuuuuuuuude.’”

Leslie jumped in: “So then Jillian was all business and said really slowly: ‘What . . . did your
mother
 . . . name you?’”

At that moment, I felt Jillian’s arm around my neck as she peeked over Leslie’s shoulder. In her best Diego impersonation, she said, “Umm . . . Charleston.”

We all laughed and Leslie hugged Jillian. “Oh my
God
!
Hi!
That was so hilarious. You know he’s from this total WASPy blue-blood family. His dad is probably a professor at Harvard.”

“Yeah, but you’d never know it from the shaggy blond highlights and the dirty fingernails,” I said.

Brad laughed. “Didn’t you say he went around barefoot everywhere?”

“Yeah.” Jillian snorted. “And after that day he talked us all into surf lessons, he tried to ask Leslie out on a date.”

“And who wouldn’t, with a rack like that?”

The voice was a guy’s and came from behind me. I spun around ready to lay down the law and came nose to nose with Josh Phillips.

“’Sup, bros?” He dropped his voice to a butch Neanderthal’s, then handed me and Brad beers.

“Josh!” Jillian jumped across me to Josh for a hug. Brad held up a hand for a high five, but Josh just crossed his arms. “Dude. We’re in high school now. High fives are for children.”

I laughed as Brad locked an arm around Josh’s neck and rubbed his knuckles against Josh’s scalp, beer sloshing everywhere.

“This is Josh Phillips,” I said, introducing him to Beth and Leslie. “He’s got the fastest time for the two hundred butterfly in the state.”

Josh was lean but solid. At six foot three he was an inch taller than Brad and I, but weighed twenty pounds less and could outstretch any guy in the Northwest.

“Lovely ladies of the freshman class,” he said, tipping his red Wayfarer Ray-Bans and peering over the frames. “Anything to drink?”

“Dry martini, up,” said Macie as she slunk into the circle between Brad and me. “You can be the drink boy today, but let’s remember it’s a service role.”

“What the fuck, Macie—?” I started.

Josh held up a hand. “Easy there, Walker. This one doesn’t mean any harm; she’s just worried I look better in my swimsuit than she does.”

Macie smiled. “Or maybe I do mean some harm, Josh. And where are those little Speedos you race in? I was so hoping we’d see them on you today.”

“Board shorts today, Ms. Merrick. Didn’t want to frighten you, sweetheart,” said Josh. “Beth? Jillian? Leslie? To drink?”

“I’ll just take a Diet Coke,” said Leslie, eager to change the subject.

Jillian glared at Macie. “I’ll come with you, Josh.”

“Excellent.” He smiled. “Macie, I’m afraid we’re fresh out of gin, but I’ll make some lemonade and see if we can’t sweeten up that sour puss of yours.”

Bradley howled with laughter as Macie blushed.

“C’mon, Jills,” said Josh as he grabbed her hand. “You’ve just been promoted to assistant mixologist.” Then he dragged her over toward the grill and the outdoor kitchen area, where Derek had set up the bar.

“Not cool,” I said to Macie when Josh was out of earshot.

“Oh, come now, Jake.” Macie fake pouted. “Just reminding everyone of the natural order of things. Can’t have the swim boys running amok.”

“I see you’ve met our new gymnast?” I asked.

“Yes indeed,” said Macie. “She’s cute as a button. Came running right over to introduce herself.”

Beth smiled nervously. She seemed to be looking at everyone but Leslie.

“And this is Leslie,” I said.

Leslie smiled and extended her hand.

“Oh, I know who you are,” said Macie, ignoring her hand and reaching toward her bikini top for the chain around her neck. “Jake! How cute. You and Leslie are wearing your little friendship necklaces. Jillian told me about those.”

Leslie fingered the charm around her neck, and I felt my cheeks burn as Macie continued her act.

“I made Jillian take hers off. Can’t have the poor girl getting an ugly white blotch in the middle of her chest from that charm.”

I saw Leslie’s face cloud, and then she composed herself and tried again.

“We had a really great time in Cape Cod,” she said to Macie. “It’s so beautiful there. We were just talking about the day we took surf lessons and—”

“Oh—huh,” Macie said, interrupting her.

“What?” asked Leslie, confused.

Macie reached over and ran a finger along my collarbone, under the silver chain, and suggestively down between my pecs, where the sailboat pendant hung.

“Jake’s is a boat and yours is an anchor,” she said, looking
at Leslie. Then she let out a little chuckle. “How appropriate.”

She dropped the sailboat against my chest. “Well, I need to go and say hello to some sophomores. Beth, join us?”

Beth nodded eagerly.

“Nice meeting you, Leslie,” Macie said coolly.

She took a few steps and turned back to me, adjusting the sarong that hung from her hips, under her white strapless top.

“Careful of that anchor, Jake. Wouldn’t want it tying you down.”

•  •  •

“You two never really got along after that,” Brad said, staring into the window of Scarecrow Video from his truck.

“We never really got along before that,” I said, sliding out of the truck. Brad followed and we walked toward the front door of the store. I saw Andy standing behind the counter. He nodded at me and raised a hand. I waved back.

“Macie felt like you were supposed to be with her. You were always her pick for high school boyfriend. I was second choice.”

“I never made Macie any promises, Brad.”

“Didn’t have to,” said Brad. “Macie promised herself that you’d be hers. You’re the first thing she ever wanted that she couldn’t have.”

I reached for the door. “Don’t worry. I won’t be the last.”

17. JILLIAN

Brad texted me from the video store with Jake.

Hey babe. DVD zombie flix wJake?

I responded,
Calculus.

Then the phone rang. It was Katherine. I tapped ignore on my phone and kept working equations.

She called back. I sighed and tapped accept.

“Hey, Katherine,” I said.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Calculus homework,” I said. “I kind of need to get back to it.”

“Jillian, I need to talk to you,” she said.

I put down my pencil. “Okay. I’ve got five minutes, then I have to finish this assignment. I need every last brain cell to do it. I completely failed the last pop quiz on Monday. It was right after Dirkson gave us our subpoenas and there was no way I could focus.”

“What happened freshman year?”

“What?” I asked. “Freshman year? With who?”

“With everyone,” Katherine said. “How did this start?”

“Katherine, this is not a five-minute story.”

“Jillian, it’s about to be the end of the story if somebody doesn’t tell me what’s going on. I’ve never asked ’cause I figured y’all had your own thing goin’ before I got here last year, and I certainly didn’t need to know what I didn’t need to know.”

She was quiet for a minute.

“And now you need to know?” I asked.

“Jillian, Beth’s deposition . . .” Her voice trailed off, and I felt my stomach seize in a knot the way it used to when I played a piano recital when I was a little girl.

“What about it?” I asked.

“She wasn’t . . . ,” Katherine started, then stopped herself. “It didn’t go very well.” She sighed.

“Why are you calling me?” I asked. “Shouldn’t we be talking to Macie about this?”

“I’m calling you, Jillian, because I want what I’ve never gotten from Macie.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“The truth.”

I looked down at the graph paper lying in the crease of my calculus textbook and thought about all the figuring out I’d had to do over the years with Macie—all the problems, the subtracting of certain facts, the addition of others, the division that resulted.

I was so tired of solving Macie Merrick.

“What do you want to know?” I asked.

“Freshman year,” said Katherine. “How did it start?”